


The Only Day There Ever Was

by JoRaskoph



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Community: HPFT, Dark, Darkest times, First Kiss, Hurt, Loss of love, M/M, Memories, Pining, Romance, Sirius has always loved Remus, change, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-11 14:20:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7895947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoRaskoph/pseuds/JoRaskoph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their lips are touching, at first only a brush of skin against skin, soft like the flutter of eyelashes. For a moment Sirius knows they are both thinking "This is it?", "This is all?", but then it registers that this is Remus and him, him and Remus the way he has dreamt, has dreaded so many times.</p><p>And this realisation changes everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Only Day There Ever Was

**Author's Note:**

  * For [livwrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/livwrites/gifts).



Wind whispers in tall late summer grass. Green hills stretch in every direction and in the distance, perched on the very top of the only tree in sight, a lone bird is trilling its song. The melody is sweet and it has an otherworldly quality to it as it the wind carries it across the meadows. It is one of the days when the air is so hot it feels almost solid and the flittering heat paints the landscape ever softer than it really is.

 

Sirius Black wipes the perspiration off his forehead and squints his eyes against the sun as he takes all of it in. His lanky fifteen year old body is stretched out in the grass, his head resting on his backpack.

 

"What’s up, Padfoot? You going to write a poem about this?" James’ voice sounds sleepy and almost bored; the heat making him too lazy to even lift his head as Sirius halfheartedly shoves his shoulder in response.

 

"I’m never telling you anything again!"

 

"Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Black! You know we’d all be happy if you could shut your big mouth for once!" James retorts and Sirius gives him another shove for good measure

 

"You even tell us about the colour of your underwear…", Peter squeaks from James’ other side, pointing out the obvious as he always does.

 

They dissolve into easy laughter over the absurdity of it, secure in the knowledge of being the best of friends. The mere thought of keeping something from the others is ludicrous. They are his mates, his constant companions. He’d call them brothers if he didn’t know that bonds of blood were weaker than those of their friendship.

 

In the midst of their boyish laughter, Remus’ chuckle stands out soft and deep and Sirius wonders if it’s only to him that it sounds of something more. Calm, faithful Remus, who doesn’t say much, but whose presence Sirius is acutely aware of. The proximity of his shoulder beside Sirius’ own an icy hot fascination.

 

While Peter and James continue to banter and while Remus continues to remain silent, Sirius wonders if Remus ever suspects anything.

 

Does he notice when Sirius runs out of friendly insults for him? (Because sometimes the only thing he can think of telling Remus Lupin is how soft his hair looks.) Does he find it strange when ever-moving Sirius Black volunteers to accompany him into the library where he is forced to sit still all day? (Because doing nothing with Remus is so much nicer than doing something proper with anyone else.)

 

No, Sirius decides, they are friends, the best of friends. Remus has no reason to believe anything else and Sirius has taken great care to make sure of it. Their friendship—the four of them together becoming so much more than the sum of what each of them could be on his own—far too precious to endanger it by a schoolboy crush; not even, if said crush has persisted for years…

 

Sirius Black is not going to change anything about them, but on this beautiful day in the sun, it won’t hurt to steal one single glance of his quiet friend.

 

His breathing hitches when he finds clear brown eyes looking back at him. Remus is lying on his side, studying Sirius intently like he studies his books—with a singleminded concentration, as if Sirius were the most important thing in the world.

 

"You are keeping something from me." The words are not a question and about this Sirius is not surprised. As much as this sudden confrontation is unexpected, it is only natural for Remus to be absolutely certain of everything before he voices an opinion.

 

He shifts his body so he is lying on his side as well, resting his head on his hand—in part because it’s comfortable and in part because it helps ground him, helps him keep from reaching over to touch Remus’ curls as they move in the breeze.

 

"What are you talking about, Moony?", the voice he puts on is too brittle, he’s not used to lying to any of his friends and he’s not prepared for it, least of all to this one.

 

A smile is playing around the corners of Remus’ mouth, a smile unlike any other smile Sirius has ever seen on him. It is a smile full of mischief and despite him being involved in the most outrageous pranks, Remus is rarely one to openly wear such an emotion.

 

"You didn’t tell me you wanted this…" he says and leans forward to kiss Sirius. It’s a very deliberate movement, very much like Remus himself.

 

As he lowers his mouth to Sirius’ he is allowing plenty of time for Sirius to move away and pretend this was not in fact what he wanted. And he should. What they are about to do undermines everything Sirius has been telling himself, all the reasons he has so carefully assembled. Still, he is unable or unwilling to deny himself this moment now.

 

Their lips are touching, at first only a brush of skin against skin, soft like the flutter of eyelashes. For a moment Sirius knows they are both thinking "This is it?", "This is _all_?", but then it registers that this is Remus and him, him and Remus the way he has dreamt, has dreaded so many times.

 

And this realisation changes everything.

 

Lips are no longer only lips, they are now a connection he is clinging to, desperately. Where before there was only him in his skin, there is now also a monster growling in his chest, urging him on, clawing at his insides to scoot ever so much closer, to pull and tear. His mouth opens even wider at its own accord: Sucking and biting, licking and wanting, wanting so much more than he can get.

 

What he is feeling now, he has never felt before. It is hunger, is thirst, is a madness he can’t escape. There are no longer any questions in his world, no uncertainty, only need.

 

He his stumbling and falling, as Remus’ skin is pressed up agains his.

 

The sun burns down mercilessly, but there are goosebumps on his arms as Remus’ breath is ghosting against his skin. Sensations are building up so fast and so relentlessly he feels he is drowning for real, the need so acute a burning in his lungs and his thoughts a mist.

 

At the back of his mind, Sirius knows there is something he needs to remember, but whenever he tries to hold onto the idea long enough to understand it, it’s already slipping away.

 

The heat turns ice cold the moment he realises their gasps are the only sounds he can hear. He pulls away from Remus’ lips with a start and as soon as he is thinking again, he knows it’s impossible James has not interrupted them yet.

 

"Where are they?" There is panic in Sirius’ voice.

 

"What’s the matter, sweetheart?" Remus looks at him wide eyed, as if he can’t see the soft green hills have transformed into hostile bristling fields of dried stubble. _Empty_ fields of dried stubble because James and Peter are gone.

 

On his feet in an instant, Sirius feels suddenly repulsed by Remus, who is still lying on the ground, looking content. „Where is James? And Peter?!“

 

At his questions, Remus’ face falls, dark shadows creeping into his features, turning it into something strange and frightening. He looks older. There are bags under his eyes and his skin has an unhealthy sheen to it. He has become a frightful sight altogether, but the worst are his eyes. They are the same brown they have always been, but they are sad now. No, not just sad, heartbroken. When he speaks, he doesn’t look at Sirius: „You killed them – don’t you remember?“

 

The words are incomprehensible, but their weight falls so willingly on Sirius’ shoulders, he instantly knows they are true. He stammers „I forgot…“ and as the words stumble out of his mouth like vomit he falls to his knees. His body, like his world, is crumbling around him, his muscles and flesh dissolving in a fury of pain.

 

Remus watches his struggles with the cold eyes of a distant observer. When he opens his mouth the lips which have been so soft just a moment earlier are sneering. „This is why we don’t talk about them. You are too weak to face what you have done…“ He is not so much talking as spitting his words, adding them into the now howling wind that is tearing at Sirius from all sides. His voice the voice of a stranger from a beloved mouth.

 

"I’m sorry!", Sirius wants to cry but the only word coming from his throat is "How?". Again and again: how? how? how? Everything Sirius understands is that it’s gone: the friendship he believed in more than he ever believed in any god doesn’t exist anymore.

 

And the storm is howling around them, around Remus and Sirius; Sirius and Remus who won’t talk to him anymore. The sky is dark and angry towers of clouds are building high above their heads—as far away as the life he thought he had.

 

The fields of dried stubble are stretching endlessly in every direction, their sheer size and flatness exhausting for Sirius’ mind; their expanse fills him with fear. This must be how years upon years without his friends feel: Endless prickly emptiness.

 

Now Sirius can see clearly why the abandoned tree in the distance is so obviously abandoned, he knows it and he knows no bird could sit on it, no man could stand in it’s shade. It it the Whomping Willow and it is angrily swinging its branches at them, daring them to come into reach. But if this tree is the Whomping Willow, then this must be …

 

In the moment it takes him to process the thought, everything snaps into place. On one side the forbidden forest is looming in the distance, black and unknown, on the other side the castle, its walls so high he has to tip his head back to see the top of them. The grounds they have wandered so many nights are silverly illuminated by a pale round moon.

 

The moon light is getting caught in Remus’ hair, is reflecting off his eyes and painting his unhealthy skin an otherworldly, almost translucent white.

 

Sirius gasps.

 

Remus smiles. It is a sad smile and the expression looks so much more like him than the earlier excitement, the melancholy an old acquaintance, almost at home in his face.

 

"The moon…?" Sirius begins and Remus finishes for him:

 

"…can’t touch me here."

 

A bottomless pit opens in Sirius’ chest. His palms are damp with cold sweat and with raw urgency Sirius reaches towards the other boy. He needs… but when the tips of his fingers should graze against Remus’ cheek he feels nothing.

 

 

_*_

 

 

_In the middle of a stormy sea stands a castle on a rock. No light shines from its windows. Even in the starless night the building on the rock stands out like an ink stain stain against white paper; a darkness blacker than the absence of light seeps out of it and tells of the horror that lies within._

 

_Somewhere in the depths of its stomach a big black dog tosses and turns in his sleep as a shadow soundlessly floats past the door of his cell, greedily sucking away all happy thoughts._

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This was written as part of the Pass It Along Challenge on HPTF/hpfanfictalk.com. Dear Olivia, I hope you liked this interpretation of one of your OTPs.
> 
> A huge thank you for giving this a quick read-through go to toomanycurls and pointlessproclamations. I feel obliged to point out this was in part inspired by the portrayal of friendships in Maggie Stiefvater's The Raven Cycle – due to this I also owe a huge thank you to victoria_anne who made me read this wonderful series!
> 
> Thank you for reading and if you have a minute please let me know what you thought.


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